


Hands Under Covers

by DeathByRoxas



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, Adolescent Sexuality, Comeplay, M/M, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Underage Masturbation, the tragedy of sharing your room with your brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 12:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3446573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathByRoxas/pseuds/DeathByRoxas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They always share a bed.<br/>They always share a bed when one or the other sleeps over.  They just do.</p><p>Steve sleeps over at the Barnes Household and Bucky is desperate to fulfill an agreement they made prior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands Under Covers

May 21, 1932

Vinegar Hill, Brooklyn, New York

 

*** 

 

They always share a bed.

They always share a bed when one or the other sleeps over. They just do.

Sometimes, when the days are long and the midnight oil is full to brimming with work, Sarah Rogers will send her son off to the Barnes residence carrying a set of clothes to sleep, a set of clothes for the morning, and a gift.

“Oh!  What type of pie is it this time, Steven?”

“Cherry pie, ma’am.  Fresh, too!” Steve hands over the dish with steady hands to the delighted Mrs. Barnes.  

The gift is always food.  Always something to eat.  With rationing on the high and jobs on the low, feeding a horde of six on your own is never easy, and everything helped. The Barnes household consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Barnes and their four excitable children:  Bucky, is the oldest at 14, is the beau of his class, and prides himself the man of the house when his father is out.  Becky, the second oldest, never hesitates to speak her mind and has received quite a few notable letters from her teachers by age 12.  Ricky is the middle boy who, with 6 years of age, can recount all the players in the Brooklyn Dodgers by heart with their stats, and is remembered to have had the most lavish baby shower in the whole neighborhood. Nicki, the littlest of them all, toddles around at age 2, a surprise arrival to the Barnes family, and has a favorite person: Steve, because he doesn’t push her off when she sits in his lap.

Steve Rogers doesn’t know what it’s like to be the oldest, or the middle, or the youngest.  At 14 –soon to be 15-, he’s an only child to a single mother.

“I’m gonna fly around the world like Amelia Earhart, you’ll see!  Take a plane to all sorts of places!”  Becky spins around in her summer dress, billowing at the skirt, arms out like a bird.

“I wanna fly!”  Ricky calls out to her, “Errrrrrrrrr nnyyyyyyooooooooommmmmm!!” He zips around his sister yelling out engine noises, gripping imaginary handles and imitating gunfire. “Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh!  Don’t let them get away! Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh!”

“Amelia Earhart doesn’t use machine guns! She’s breaking a world record, not fightin’ in a war!”

Above the shouting of Becky ordering Ricky on the proper manner of flight performance, Steve and Bucky lounge on the fire escape by Bucky’s and Ricky’s bedroom window.  With the wireless on, Steve’s doodling tiny cartoons of Bucky and Nicky, while Bucky kneels to coach the littlest Barnes the art of swing dance to the sweet sounds of Ivie Anderson.

 

_It makes no different if it’s sweet or hot_

_Just keep that rhythm, give it everything you’ve got_

 

Bucky’s got Nicki standing on her shaky chubby legs, tugging her in all the latest fashionable dance moves he’s learned on his dates to the school dance hall.

“Atta girl Nicky.  Now a spin, you ready?  That’s my girl! You’re gonna make all those boys fight for your dance card.  But Bucky’s always got a dance saved wit’cha, right Nicky-doodle?”

“No, Stevie!”  Nicki giggles conspiratorially in their game.

 

_It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing!_

 

Mrs. Winifred Barnes, exhausted from her sewing and cooking, shoves her head outside their kitchen window “Ricky!! Becky!!  Come inside and clean up for dinner!!”

“Oh!”  Bucky’s jaw drops smiling.  “My very own sister! Rather dance with that rascal Rogers instead of me!”  He exaggerates a shocked face, hand on his heart.   “Woe is me! My heart! I can’t take it!”

Nicki’s giggling is infectious, and Steve can’t help but stop his scribbling to watch them play.

“Oh five more minutes ma!” 

“Five minutes nothing!  Get in here or no dinner for either of you! We could use the extra food around here anyway….”

“I see what this is.  Letting me down easy.  Go on, Nicky.  Dance with my best guy.” Smooches Nicky on her plump cheek and gently shoves her into Steve’s awaiting arms. She jumps and hugs Steve with all of her toddler strength laughing herself tired.  Bucky stands up and pats his knees, wiping the rust off his pants, and climbs through the open window.

“Don’t listen to Bucky, he’s being a ham.” He stage whispers into Nicky’s ear.

“Well if I’m a ham,” Bucky slips into his room, “someone better shove an apple in my mouth. I won’t complain!” he winks, and slips out of sight.  Bucky makes his way down the stairs, two steps at a time, and passes his mother at the kitchen, straight to the front door. 

“James-!”

“On it!”

When Mr. Barnes is out and Mrs. Barnes is busy tending to homely matters, Bucky plays man of the house.

“Becky! Ricky!  Git inside the house! Didntcha hear Ma!”

“ _You’re_ not the boss of us _Bucky_.”

“Yea you’re not the boss!”

“Now you listen here, I ain’t afraid of yanking you by that ear of yours or putting you over my knee.  But I swear to the Lord you don’t get your ass inside to wash up, I will spank the both of you right here right now in front of every Tom-Dick-n-Harry an’ you’ll be holleran’ so loud the neighbors will have no choice but to call the cops. Get. In. Side.”  Becky and Ricky marched sullenly up the steps with Bucky following close behind them.  Once inside, he shares a quick look with his mother before ushering them into the hallway bathroom to wash up.  “Under your nails too.  Don’t waste the water, soak the rag and rub it with soap first. To your elbows. I _saw that Ricky._ ” 

Standing by the door, Bucky has a clear view of the stairs and an open ear to the upper floor that catches the hushed one-sided conversation between Steve and Nicki.  Slowly, Steve walks down the steps from Bucky’s bedroom with his littlest sister on his hip, her head tucked gently under his cheek as she listens in childlike rapture to Steve’s low voice and sucks her thumb. Bucky watches mesmerized.

“And when the dance is done, your date, if he’s a gentleman, will walk you all the way home, right to your door. And if you really fancy him, you can give him a kiss on the cheek.  Nothing more than that ‘cause you’re a lady, don’t you forget it.” A slow tingle climbs up Bucky’s spine and he stills, his face going frightfully pale before a shocking blush reddens his cheeks and dips down his neck in a hot rush. He swallows the gathering wetness in his mouth and struggles to hide the light tremor in his hands when Steve reaches the bottom of the steps.

“An’ if any guy tries to get fresh with you, just point me ‘n Buck in his direction and we’ll give him a one-two. No one will _ever_ think of trying that again.”

“Bucky!  Bucky! Look we’re done! _Bucky_!” Ricky waves his hands in his big brother's face.  Bucky spares a quick glance at their damp hands and faces.

“Yeah yeah ok.  Now scram.”

“Jeeze!”

“Becky! Ricky!  Come set the table!” They follow to their mother without complaint.

Steve’s made it to the hallway bathroom just as it had been vacated and faces a stiff Bucky at the door.  Steve stands patiently, waiting for Bucky to move.

“Is there somethin’ on my face?”

“Nothin’ but your ugly mug.”  And he pulls Nicki out of Steve’s arms. 

Steve takes his place at the sink, scrubbing the pencil marks off the side of his palms, working his fingers into a frothy lather.

“Bring her here.”  Steve reaches his soapy hands to Bucky and he took a moment before he realized what Steve was asking of him.  Holding the toddler by the waist, he tipped her forward over the sink and let Steve clean Nicki’s hands.  Steve dried them both and took Nicki back in his arms. 

“I’ll take her.” And Steve just walks out of the bathroom like they do this every day.  When he’s gone, Bucky lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He looks at the mirror and stares at his face, pinches his cheeks to compare the color, inhales-presses his cool wet hands to his forehead and neck- and exhales.  They’re hot to the touch. 

The front door slams, followed by a chorus of “Welcome home Papa!”, “Welcome home dear.”, with a polite “Hello, Mr. Barnes”. Bucky needs to wash his hands. For dinner.  And after dinner, they’re gonna play some games, listen to the wireless with Pa and Ma tucked away in the living room catching up, until Ma will tell Bucky to fetch the couch cushions because it’s time for bed and Steve is sleeping over tonight.

Steve is sleeping over tonight. 

“Bucky? You done in there, son?” 

“Yea, Pa.  All yours.” He exits the bathroom.

Bucky takes his seat at the table, sitting in the only mismatched chair in the set, next to Steve and across from Becky, his mother to his right on one end, his father at the other closer to Steve. They say grace and dig in.

“Tell me, ma’ boy, what did you bring us this time?” 

“A cherry pie, sir.”  

“Oh!  That’s one of my favorites, you know.” 

Becky quips. “Papa! You said that Mrs. Roger’s apple pie was your favorite last time!” 

“You’re mother does make fabulous pies, dear.” Mrs. Barnes delicately cuts her food.

“We’d enter them into a contest if there were any.”

“We used to have plenty of those back in Iowa. Best part of the County Fair, I’ll tell you!” 

Ricky pauses his reckless chopping with the side of his spoon, interested in the table talk.  “What’s a county fair like?  Is it like Coney?”

“Some things are the same.”  Mr. Barnes twirls his fork.  “Stalls selling sweets and fried foods, carnival games, that sort of thing. No bath houses though. But it’s not like Coney where it’s there year round.  Once a year, everyone in the town comes together to hold these huge fairs.  With all the popular music, dancing, food contests, games, you name it.”

The idea excites Becky.  “Papa!  Can we go to a county fair?” 

  
“Well,” Mr. Barnes strokes his mustache and down around his mouth. “We don’t have any county fairs here in the city.  Maybe further up north, Albany perhaps.”  

“Oh I don’t think any of them could be like Johnson County.  Do you remember Johnson County, dear?”  Mrs. Barnes reached out to squeeze her husband’s hand.

“Like it was yesterday.”  He sang back to her.

“Aw jeez.  Ma and Pa are making googly eyes again.  Bucky make them stop. Bucky?” 

“Huh, what?”

Everyone’s plates are three-quarters gone and Bucky’s is still plentiful.  His mother notices.

“Bucky eat your dinner, or no desert. Food isn’t something we waste here.”

“If Bucky can’t have it, I won’t mind finishing his plate.  It was swell, Mrs. Barnes.”

“Thank you Steve. Bucky?”

“It’s swell Ma.  Just savoring it.”  And he shuts himself up with a forkful of food.

Dinner ends with a spectacular finish of cherry pie topped with Mrs. Barnes’s freshly made whipped cream. 

 

***

 

Post-dinner activities in the Barnes household were always held indoors, with the sun setting as the moon rises. 

“Don’t be a cheat, Rogers!”

“I ain’t miscounting any dots like you Buck.”

Steve lets Nicki roll the die in his stead. She’s gotten pretty good at keeping in it on the board and putting Steve right in the lead.  He picks up his blue marble and taps it on the wooden board- one, two, thee, four-

“No way!  You can’t be serious!” He removes Bucky’s red marble and tosses it out of its pocket.

“Back to base, Bucky!”

“Yea! Back to base Bucky!”  Ricky giggles.

“Watch it Ricky, he’s commin’ after you next.”

Becky skims over the instructions for the tenth time. “Is it even fair that you’re not rolling the die, Steve?”

“It’s plenty fair.  Nicki’s too small to play, so she’s helping me out. Like a lucky charm.”

Bucky grumbles.“Nicki sits with _me_ next time.”

Steve hugs the littlest Barnes close to him while she babbles senselessly.  “Never Barnes!!”

Mr. Barnes sits in his chair reading the evening newspaper, while his wife sits by his side and sews in the hems of a dress too fine for any of them to wear.  It’s one of the ways the Barnes’s have managed to weather out through this economic storm. Every other morning after breakfast, the Barnes house is visited by a slew of people: many of them unmarried men new to the city, bringing in holey socks and pants in need of a patch or a shirt a hemming.  It brings in a steady number of clients who either bought clothes a size too big to save money or had no money to buy new clothes at all.  At first, Mr. Barnes became very upset at the idea of his wife being visited by so many young (and handsome) bachelors and being in the position to handle their underthings, but as his department store downtown saw less and less visitors, he shut his trap real quick and learned to live with their new circumstances. So the evenings are spent with a pile of clothes growing smaller and smaller as each item is fixed by delicate and quick hands before being moved onto a new pile for pick-up.

When the pile is particularly large, Steve usually helps. 

“Oh Steve, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure Bucky would be very cross with you if you left him during your game.”

“He’s already cross with me. I beat him in Wahoo so bad, he’s bound to get last place.”

“He knocked all my pieces out of the race, Ma!” Bucky calls out from the other room.  “Don’t let him do nothin’!”

“Well of you insist Steve.” 

“I was getting bored of watching you _lose_ , Bucky!” Steve calls back.

“Ha ha.”

Steve threads a needle faster than a boy of fourteen with bad vision should be able to.  But as in everything, he defies first impressions and settles by Mrs. Barnes’ feet to dig into the middle of the pile, pulling out a pair of men’s boxers with holes in curious places.  He shares a glance with Mr. Barnes, who peers at him conspiratorially above the Sports section and hums in satisfaction at Steve’s choice.  Mrs. Barnes, who caught the whole interaction as she always does, sighs in mild annoyance. Steve likes to keep the peace in this house. It’s his thing.

Steve works quietly to the songs on the radio, the calmness punctuated by the rowdiness of the game a few feet away.

 

_They used to tell me I was building a dream_

_With peace and glory ahead_

_Why should I be standing in line_

_Just waiting for bread?_

 

“Do you think we’ll always be waiting in line for bread?” Bucky sits next to Steve, smiling that he caught Steve unawares, by his father’s chair.

“What happened to the game? Did you lose?”

“I got second place, no thanks to you.”

“I hope not.” Mrs. Barnes sighs, massaging her hands. “Relying on bread lines like this. It’s not a way to live.” There are people far off worse than the Barnes’s, and there will be more, if they could help it. They held onto their lifestyle as hard as they could, and they’re prepared to keep holding on until things got better.

 

_Once I built a tower up to the sun_

_Brick and rivet and lime_

_Once I built a tower, now it's done_

_Brother, can you spare a dime?_

 

_Once in khaki suits, gee, we looked swell_

_Full of that Yankee Doodly Dum_

_Half a million boots went slogging through Hell_

_And I was the kid with the drum_

 

“I didn’t fight the war for my country to turn into this.” Mr. Barnes folds his paper in half, rubs his eyes tiredly, and Bucky snatches it off his lap, looking over the stocks and the headlines, but most of the information goes over his head. The front page is all about Roosevelt.

“Are you gonna vote for the Governor, Pa? He’s got a lotta support here.” 

“Ain’t no love here for Hoover.” Mrs. Barnes remarks. 

“No one is happy with Hoover. And I don’t think he’s doing enough during this crisis.  But there’s no telling if Roosevelt will do any better until he’s in office.” 

“Mother says you can’t believe a politician’s words. Only his actions. Yet, his words are all we can go by when voting for him.” Steve looks solemnly over ripped pants. 

“Sadly Steven, that’s true. But we’ve already seen what Hoover’s moves were, and they are clearly insufficient.”

_Say, don't you remember? They called me 'Al'_

_It was 'Al' all the time_

 

“Grandpa’d be rolling in his grave if he heard you’re turning Republican, Pa.” 

“If I turn Republican, I’ll roll with him. I’ll vote for whoever keeps my family fed.”

 

_Say, don't you remember? I'm your pal_

_Buddy, can you spare a dime?_

 

“Finish up your game, kids.  Right after, it’s straight to bed.”  Announces Mr. Barnes.

“Thank you Steve.  You two should wash up for bed before the others.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” “Sure Ma.”

“And James!” 

“Yea Ma.”

“Don’t forget the couch cushions.”

“Got it, Ma.”

Upstairs in the family bathroom, Bucky prepares the tub for a quick wash before bed.  Bucky fills the tub before the water comes out hot for Steve, bathing in chilled water while Steve prepares his things for sleep.  He soaps a rag and scrubs all over: his face, behind his ears, round his neck, under his arms and the sparse hair growing there.  Wringing the rag out, he soaps it again and put special attention to his prick, his balls, his crack- he can feel pressure building in his head from nervousness, right between his eyes.  Steve is sleeping over.  He’s gotta get the couch cushions and put them on the floor. A gentle tap on the door pulls Bucky out of his head and Steve slips inside without a sound.

“You ok there, Buck?”

“Yeah.  Aces.”

Steve looks at Bucky with his gentle knowing smile, sets his things by the sink.

“It’s a full house tonight Buck. We can do it another time.”

“It’s fine Steve.  We’re not waiting any longer." 

“It’s not the end of the world if we wait another day. We have the whole summer-“

“I said it’s fine Steve!”

Steve’s face flushes from his ears to the tops of his cheeks. 

“Then let me wash up.  You’re taking too much time.”

Bucky stands up, steps out of the tub, while Steve looks away, still flushed.  He wraps the towel around his waist before squeezing Steve’s shoulder without comment. Still dripping wet, he exits the bathroom to dress for bed.  Bucky meets Ricky in his room, who is busy packing Wahoo back in its box.

“I won Bucky!”

“Did’ya now?”

“Yeah! Becky had Nicki with her, but she still lost, but only by a little.” 

“Figured.”

“Is Steve done?”

“He’ll be out soon.  Just get your stuff ready.”

Bucky dries and changes into his nightclothes. As soon as Steve enters Bucky’s and Ricky’s room, Ricky takes his leave to bathe before his mother calls out for him. Steve comes in wearing nothing but his towel, still wet and dripping.

“Do- do you think now?”

“No.” Bucky shakes his head.  He counts the seconds in his head, thinks of how long Ricky normally takes in the bath, if his mother would double check to make sure he didn’t miss any spots, how much time that would add, but he couldn’t take that chance. It wouldn’t be enough time for them. They could rush things in the few moments of privacy they had, but Bucky wouldn’t risk it.  He won’t risk Steve and him getting caught.  “Later.  When everyone’s asleep.”

“Ricky’ll be in the room, Buck.”

“He sleeps through everything, you know that.”

“But he’ll be in the room."

“I’ve done it.”  He hasn’t, actually.  But if he can’t convince Steve now, then they won’t go through with it at all. And they may never get the nerve to do this again.  “Can’t keep your mouth shut for a little while, Rogers?”

“Get the couch cushions, Barnes.”

Bucky snorts and leaves Steve dripping in the middle of his room.  He knew that by the time he came back, Steve’s hair’d be cool and damp and skin water-soft, like his was. He’d smell like soap, like comfort, like home.  They’d be inches apart, face-to-face in the quiet dark of his room, warm under the covers, sharing his pillow, sharing his bed.

Because they always share a bed.

They always share a bed when one or the other sleeps over.  They just do.

Bucky’s completely distracted when he yanks off the floral print couch cushions and chucks them under his arms, he nearly runs into his mother as she tells him something of importance and stacks a few sheets and blankets with an extra pillow into his arms as well.

“And don’t you boys stay up all night!”

“Yes, Ma.”

Bucky walks back upstairs, one step at a time, mind racing, thinking over what he’s gonna say, what he’s gonna do, to keep Steve from backing out.  To keep himself from backing out.  They had this talk already. When they had the chance, the first chance, they’ll do it. They’ll share this, do this together, explore this together.  No one else.  Bucky prepares himself to calm Steve, or calm himself. Instead he finds Steve dressed for sleep in his bed flipping through the second half of a comic book and Ricky climbing into his own bed across the room. He drops the cushions on the floor, and strips his bed of their sheets with no help from Steve who only kicks them out from under him.  The cushions are dressed the best he could with his warm sheets and his work is completed with the final addition of his pillow, snatched from under Steve’s head. There’s a damp spot that smells like Steve that he knows he’ll press his face into later.  Steve helps him this time, redressing his bed with fresh linens for Steve to sleep in.  Mrs. Barnes enters the room, already in her nightgown and robe, added for modesty.

“James! Steven!  To bed! Both of you!”

Bucky takes his place on the floor, adjusts the cushions so that he lies close to Steve.  If Steve were to look over the edge, he would be right above Bucky; barely an arm’s dangle away.  And that’s exactly was Steve does. His arm swings over the edge. His hand can reach flat on Bucky’s chest without any effort to reach. Steve pulls his borrowed pillow closest to Bucky without falling off, and all he has to do is turn on his side to look over his friend.  They share a quick smile before Mrs. Barnes turns to bid them goodnight.

She tucks Ricky in first; pulling his blanket up to his chest, maneuvering it under his arms, grabs his forehead, and gives him a kiss.  Bucky is next- “Ahw, Ma!” “Hush, James!”- and finally Steve, who she never leaves out. Steve doesn’t complain, out of both politeness and appreciation for her treating him like one of her own. She reaches the doorway, where Mr. Barnes stood also ready for bed.  She surveys the room and switches off the light, stunning the room into darkness.

“Remember.  A good boy always sleeps with his hands above the covers.”  Reminds Mrs. Barnes.

“Goodnight, boys.” Says Mr. Barnes.

“Goodnight.”

Bucky waits for the door to click shut before he turns over onto his side to face Ricky.  They can’t do it until he’s asleep, or everything would’ve been a big waste. Ricky flops over in his bed, facedown and back to his brother.  Bucky watches him with the little light coming through the fire escape from the street lamps outside.  The soft hum of cars passing down the street flows in and he strains his hearing to find that soft snore Ricky always does when he’s deep asleep.  The clock on the wall ticks a rhythm that grows louder as the night grows darker.  He listens for that rumble, patiently. But it never comes.

A gentle hand runs up his back and to his shoulder, startling him for a moment.  It’s Steve, so Bucky turns to face him.  With Steve’s head by the corner, the beam from the streetlight just misses the top of his head, but leaves him with a glowing aura.  Steve doesn’t open his mouth.  Instead he squeezes his shoulder, smiles a sympathetic smile, and turns his back to Bucky, attempting sleep.

Bucky frowns, and grunts softly in reply. Steve may be quick to give up, but Bucky sure ain’t.  He’s gonna sit and wait for the moment Ricky is sure to be knocked out and facing away from them to make his move.  He’ll let Steve rest his eyes for a bit, for now.  Bucky gets comfortable on his couch cushions and watches his little brother toss and turn restlessly.  He watches and watches and watches…

 

***

 

Bucky gasps awake.  The streetlight is still glowing.  The night is still dark.  The clock is still ticking.  And his brother is still- snoring.  Loudly. Facing the wall and facing away from him.  Bucky sits up listening for any more sounds.  Other than the clock and the snores, he hears nothing.  He feels himself twitch.  Bucky climbs up into his bed, and watches the soft rise and fall of Steve’s back, the curl and stretch of his shoulders as he breathes.  He lightly rubs his shoulder with its movement and firms his touch over long seconds until Steve slowly wakes.

“Hmmm…?”

“Shhh.”

Steve rubs the sleep from his eyes, and squints at the clock on the wall. 

“It’s two.”  Bucky whispers.

“I can see it.” Bucky knows Steve can’t see it because his eyes aren’t the best and even he’s having trouble telling the time. It’s close to two. Or something like it.

Steve looks drowsy- slumped spine, loose shoulders, drooping eyes- while Bucky looks peaked like the afternoon sun. He feels like it too. Because the room is dark, the household is asleep, and Ricky is facing the wall snoring up a symphony, which means he isn’t closer to waking than the dead themselves. And that’s exactly what Bucky was waiting for. He smiles excitedly. He’s ready.  He’s ready for them to do exactly as they planned because the time is now and it couldn’t be more right.  Steve catches Bucky’s glistening smile in the dark with a sleepy glare. Steve, twitches too.

“Now?!”  Steve whispers.

“Yes now!”

“You can’t be serious.” 

Bucky nods furiously.  He can feel himself getting ready.  They’re gonna do this.  Just like they talked about.

Steve looks over Bucky’s shoulder at Ricky and Bucky doesn’t need to turn because Steve’s face says everything. Bucky pulls the covers around and burrows under them with Steve so that they hide their shoulders, their arms, their hands under the covers.  Steve is trapped between the wall and his friend, and Bucky keeps his back to the other person in the room.  It’s a good strategy, he thinks, because if Steve had his back to Ricky, he’d always be looking back to make sure the younger Barnes boy was asleep.  And if Steve’s like this, the only thing he could look at was Bucky or down his own body.  Bucky’s shoulders were broad enough to create a tent with a gap; if they could keep the blankets taught enough.  It should be good enough to do what they wanted without being too obvious if they were seen.

“You ready, Stevie?”  Bucky nudges closer to Steve on the pillow, their noses would touch if they turned their heads the right way.

“Y-yeah.”  Steve, always wanting to prove himself a man and lead the pack, pulls down his pants first taking his underwear with it and leaving himself out in the open. Bucky follows his example, struggles a bit, before Steve helps pull them past his knees as well.

And there they were, exposed to each other’s eyes in a way they never were before.  Both were half way to hardness at an age where they could spring faster than any time before.  They inspect each other with eyes open in the dark, the single light beam illuminating the inner ceiling of their makeshift tent.  Bucky can see Steve’s dick move and throb in a way he is all too familiar with, and his body reacts to do the same.

Steve looks straight into Bucky’s eyes. “How do we start?”

Bucky just grabs himself like he learned to. Right at the base, he moves his hand up and pulls his skin up with it. It wrinkles and covers his head, forces a breath out of his lungs involuntarily. He tries to hide the sound. He pumps his fist up and down.

“Is that the right way?”

“It’s how _I_ start.”

Steve follows Bucky’s lead, grips his base and pulls the fair skin up and up to hide his head like Bucky. Then down, exposing the head and squeezing.  He pumps to the rhythm that Bucky sets, the same rhythm as the clock on the wall. They move up and down together in perfect synchrony.  Neither is ashamed of watching the other jerk his own cock, studying how it grows longer, thicker, and feels firmer in their grasp.  Bucky moves faster.  Steve follows right behind him.  By now they’re pleasantly hard and flush at the face.  They are fascinated watching something that nearly matches what they feel. When Steve pinches his head in the webbing between his thumb and index finger, Bucky imitates him and lets out the same controlled exhale that his friend does. 

Steve’s pulls speed up.  Bucky follows and suddenly the thrill of pleasure grows somewhere around his balls and he has to swallow to breathe.  Steve is shaking around his thighs, his hips jerking, because the chase is on.  Bucky’s eyes slip half-closed, open only enough to look down at his and Steve’s moving hands. They’re lying close to one another.  Not close enough to accidentally touch, but enough to look blindly down and see them both hard and swollen without adjusting his line of sight. Their heads are wet, Steve’s more than Bucky’s, and their jerking it at top speeds.  Bucky has never seen another man’s cock like this before, and he assumes Steve hadn’t either.  He doesn’t know if he’d like to, to be honest.  Because a stranger’s couldn’t be as appealing as Steve’s was. If he had to watch a stranger do this, he doesn’t think he could manage it without anxiety or distress. But watching Steve, who he knows inside out, who he’s shared almost everything with, who’s just like him- it feels like he’s doing the right thing.

Across from him, Steve’s breathing takes a new turn. He wants to moan, and Bucky gets it because by now he wants to make noises too, but they’re in no position to pant or groan or let out any “oh.  Oh oh _oh oooooohhhh_.” Bucky grips his thigh with his free hand, hoping the discomfort will ebb away the pleasure enough to keep him quite. Steve instead hides more of his face into the pillow and huffs until he could turn to watch Bucky stroke himself without making too much noise.

When gripping his thigh works less and less, Bucky tries biting his bottom lip to keep his trap shut, breathes through his nose, and looking away from their stroked dicks onto other parts of Steve. And that backfires marvelously. He watches Steve watching him stroke his cock, just his cock, looking down with his flushed face and growing furrow in his brow.  Bucky watches him look down at them, pulls his cock a little tighter and observes Steve’s brows wrinkle more and more.  He can only tell from Steve’s arm and shoulder, but he thinks Steve is doing as _he’s_ doing.  Bucky slows his strokes to long, tight pulls up and down, and that gets to Steve enough that he closes his eyes, turns away, jaw dropping as he huffs and puffs harshly into their shared pillow.

It’s a thrilling satisfaction to have made Steve react that way, but it’s cut short when Bucky uncontrollably whimpers in the back of his throat.  It doesn’t last longer than a second, but it’s loud in their small nook, and Steve looks straight into Bucky’s eyes before looking over his shoulder to the bed across from them. Everything must be alright, because Steve doesn’t stop stroking himself, looks back at Bucky, and they look down together at their work.

Bucky wriggles to get more comfortable, pauses to pull the blanket taut to keep their “tent” intact.  They continue to watch the other, and Bucky watches Steve maneuver his balls up and away from his thighs.  It looks perfunctory, so Bucky doesn’t mimic him, until Steve uses his free hand to grip and stroke them, rubbing under and around- pulling and tugging, while fucking his fist over his cock harder than before. Bucky follows Steve example this time, fingers his sac, testing the waters, and finds it enjoyable enough to slow his leading hand to comfortable caresses.  It’s good enough that he wouldn’t mind closing his eyes. 

When everything is pitch black it throws him for a loop.  Every touch, every rub and tug and pinch feels explosive.  Behind his eyelids he could be anywhere, with anyone, doing anything- with her, with him, with them.  But there’s absolutely nothing wrong with where he is now, whom he’s with, and what they’re doing. It’s pleasing in a way that fantasies couldn’t be.  He rubs faster, harder, tugs his balls in the new way he never though could rush a tingle up his spine and cock.  He sighs, shakily, and letting that one breath out released more sounds he didn’t have the luxury to release.  He nuzzles his pillow, like Steve would, and gets immediately how satisfying it is to jam his face into something so plush, an infantile comfort soothing the frantic jolts along his body.  He opens his eyes, and Steve is looking right at him.

It’s awkward for a few seconds until it’s not, and they chuckle their way out of the tight moment when their entire friendship floated in mid-air in its questionable fate.  Steve glances behind them and Bucky listens to Steve’s soft moans punctuated by Ricky’s loud, metrical snores.  All is good when Steve stares right back at Bucky.  Everything gets better when Steve curls in closer to him.

Their foreheads touch, and he didn’t even notice how much they were sweating under the blankets, how hot their hands felt, how slick his thighs were. He can feel their toes brush, their feet slip, the head pushing against his like it pushed against his pillow and moans. Steve moans _oh so close_ to his mouth and Bucky whines helplessly, yearning for something he was not in the mental place to request. Steve pushes more, pushes harder, strokes faster, and fucks his fist with wild abandon.

“Oh _god_!”  He gasps. Too loud, much too loud. And he comes right there gasping for air, moving his hand faster then suddenly slow but squeezing up brutally choking the head of his own cock.  Steve couldn’t tell, with his face hiding in the crook of Bucky’s neck, but he spurted all over the gap between their hips on the bed, plenty dripping hot on the back of Bucky’s jerking fist.  While Steve fought for breath, Bucky slyly rubs Steve’s spunk on the head of his dick and strokes it down to his base and back up again. 

“Bucky.”  Maybe he wasn’t as sly as he thought.  Steve kept watching Bucky stroke, breathing in the moist air of their blanket-tent, while Bucky completely blanked out and presses his mouth to Steve’s hair. 

“ _Aw jeez_.   _Yeah_!”  Bucky comes with the knowledge that the new scorching slick that made his hand slip faster and easier over his throbbing cock was Steve’s cum.  He felt all the tension leave him with a catastrophic force and a well-placed whine by Steve’s ear.  He also messes up the gap between them, and he must’ve covered Steve in his cum too because Steve wipes it off of his belly and kneads it between his thumb and forefinger. He tests its wetness, observing it dry and grow tacky every time he works and stretches it apart. Bucky’s too far gone to even care.

“Yours is different from mine.” Steve comments.

“Mmmhmmm.”

Now they had the problem of changing the sheets to a cleaner set.  They didn’t know what they’d do in the morning with the evidence of their midnight actions splattered all over the guest bed sheets.  Too relaxed and dazed to care, Bucky pulls up his sleep pants, pulls his sheets off the couch cushions and switches them with the dirty ones on his bed. He didn’t care about the noise he made or if he woke Ricky up.  Regardless, Ricky barely even registered the movement or the noise; he just flopped on his back and kept on snoring.

Steve bunches the evidence and stuffs it carefully under the bed while Bucky flaps their tent blanket to get rid of the hot air trapped underneath.   Bucky didn’t bother with the couch cushions on the floor, or his extra pillow, he just flips their shared one over to its cooler side and turns in for bed. Face to face, they cuddled close with the blanket tucked neatly under their arms and their hands above the covers. 

“Goodnight Bucky.”  Steve whispered.

“Goodnight Stevie.”  Bucky whispered back.  And they fell asleep.

 

*** 

 

In the morning, with the sun up and the cars beeping loudly in the street, Bucky wakes to an empty bed.  From his room and past the half-opened door, he hears the sink running and his mother’s soft voice.

“Oh Steve.  Let me handle that for you.”  Bucky freezes.

“It’s fine, Mrs. Barnes.  It was a nosebleed and I’d rather not let you deal with it. Let me give it the first wash, at least.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yea.  It was nothing too serious.”

“If you say so.  Don’t hesitate to wake us next time, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Bucky listens for his mother’s steps down the stairs. She’ll be starting breakfast soon and it should keep her on the bottom floor for a while. Bucky rolls out of bed with a soft yawn. It wakes Ricky.

“Mmm…Is breakfast ready yet?”

“Not yet. Go back to sleep, Ricky.”

“Kay.”  Ricky promptly rolls over back to sleep.

Bucky makes his way immediately to the bathroom where Steve is bent over the sink, scrubbing off the dark stains from the previous night. The way Steve wrings out the water from the blanket reminds Bucky of the tight fist that gripped a fair pink cock a few hours earlier.  He silently helps hang the sheet on the bathroom door. 

“Everything ok?”

“Swell, Buck.”  Steve washes his hands, brushes his teeth with Bucky’s own toothbrush, all while Bucky leans against the wall and watches.  Steve watches back through the mirror, too preoccupied to make a face.

“Awr you gonna keep stawrin’?” He asks, mouth full of toothpaste.

“You’re using my brush, ya mook.” Steve spits into the sink like he spits into an eyeball, neatly and with surprising force, wipes his mouth with a towel, and hands the toothbrush back to its owner. Bucky starts his own morning bathroom routine, washing his face and brushing his teeth, with Steve taking his spot by the wall and watching him through the mirror.  They stand around in companionable silence when Steve starts the moment Bucky’s mouth is frothy with paste.

“We should do it again, ya’know. Maybe my house this time, when Mama’s out.”  Steve looks up wistfully. “I mean, we won’t have to be as quiet.  And the room won’t have to be as dark.” Steve looks at him under those long, long lashes.  “We’ll keep a rag in the middle. We won’t have to hide under the covers next time.”

Next time.

_Next time._

Bucky wants to say “Sure, pal”, but instead he chokes on toothpaste and sends Steve laughing all the way out of the bathroom, eyes twinkling, so damn sincere.  He breathes hard over the sink, head bowed, hands tight over it’s edges, following the white stream circle around and around and around until it finally disappears into the dark holes of the drain.  Steve can’t see it, but he’s smiling.  And he’s excited.

_Next time._

_Next time._

He gets ready for breakfast.

**Author's Note:**

> First fic in 8 years. First Stucky fic ever. Hoping to make this multi-chap. Kudos and comments are welcome. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Songs by order:
> 
> It Don't Mean a Thing (If It Ain't Got That Swing) by Ivie Anderson  
> Brother, Can You Spare A Dime by Bing Crosby
> 
> Barnes children names inspired by zetsubonna.
> 
> 4/21 EDIT: This was originally going to be a fic with chapters, but from the other parts in the works, I don't think I can churn out everything in chronological order without going insane. This will be a stand alone and instead be part of a series. Thanks for reading.


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